Fairy tale: A retelling
by TenTenD
Summary: When Kathryn Tudor is found murdered in a hotel room, eyes naturally turn to her husband, Henry. It is well know to everyone that they weren't on the best of terms for the past couple of years. Henry Tudor is notorious for the tragic ends of his other former wives. But did Henry actually order the murder? Anne Kleve doesn't believe it for one second.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N: Basically this idea wouldn't leave me alone. You already know I own nothing, but I'll repeat it all the same, and I am making no profits out of this.**_

_**An AU! piece of roughly 100 drabbles, concentrating on a re-imagination of characters of 'The Tudors' as present day living beings - with a spin on it, of course.**_

_**Summary: When Kathryn Tudor is found murdered in a hotel room, suspicious eyes naturally turn to her husband, Henry. It is well know to everyone that they weren't on the best of terms for the past couple of years. That, and the fact that Henry Tudor already is notorious enough for the tragic ends of his other former wives - three of them to be exact. But did Henry actually order the murder of his wife - a woman he was in the process of divorcing - or is all part of a sinister plot to bring down the Tudor empire? Anna Kleve for one doesn't believe him guilty for a single second. **_

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Her sharp nails bite the skin of his back, nearly drawing blood. Henry returns the favour with a blunt shove of his hips, watching as she breaks apart under him. She screams with the release and for the first time this night he's glad for the loud music. Or maybe not; he's too caught up in his own pleasure to hear anything but her.

Reaching out, he steals a kiss from her again. Anna responds with the usual languor he knows will take over once they are both satiated. "Stay," he suggests, a softer version of an earlier argument. _With me; stay with me._ Those words are silent. He already knows her answer.

"I can't." And just like that she pushes at his chest, trying to break free. Poor caged bird. Henry tightens his hold. "I have to go. He'll be wondering where I am if I don't get home soon."

"Let him." It's always like this with them. And he grows so angry sometimes. Angry at her. Angry at himself. Angry at this other man. "Come back with me."

His hand drags down her abdomen, the cool metal on his fingers against heated skin. Just awhile longer. As if gaining a mind of its own her body responds to his touch. Henry doesn't think about his divorce or the soon-to-be-ex-wife probably waiting, still wanting to apologise. "Anna, just–"

"Let's not fight about this, Henry." She rolls away and pulls her dress down, getting out of bed to search for her underwear. She always seems to be losing them when she's with him. Halfway gone as she is, Anna knows that she can't keep going home like this. "This really is the last time," she tells him, bending to pick up her prize.

"It isn't," Henry assures her, sliding up behind her. He kisses her fully on the lips, drawing out the moment to the best of his abilities. "It can't be."

"It is." She has made up her mind. Anna bites her lower lip. "He wants to propose to me. This has to end."

A disbelieving laugh leaves Henry. "Who the fuck does he think he is?"

"My boyfriend." Anna's curt reply earns her a smack to the backside. "Henry, I'm serious. I love him." And this time she proves her point by denying him her kiss. She turns her head away, so he can only have a smooth cheek.

"Damn it, Anna!" he cruses. Her rejection stings. "Fucking hell, woman, what do you want me to do more than I'm already doing?"

"Nothing!" she cries when he grabs her wrist. "That's exactly it. I don't want you to do anything anymore."

He lets out a string of curses so vicious her ears burn all the way back to her apartment. Her boyfriend is still not in – not that Anna actually expected him to be. She strips her clothes off and crawls into bed after scrubbing herself clean. Despite that, she can still feel Henry's hands on her.

Jason comes home sometime closer to four o'clock than the two she had arrived at. He creeps quietly in the room thinking that she is asleep. Anna lets him be, pretending the creaking of the floor doesn't affect her. Her back is to him, and she holds her position even when he slides into bed next to her.

She can feel his hesitation. Finger ghost just above her shoulder. But in the end Jason settles for her waist. She can smell the alcohol, smoke and cheap aftershave on him. At least she had the decency to wash away the evidence of her liaison. Anna thinks about the gun she keeps in her drawer. She could grab some money, the weapon and go.

Instead she turns around in bed and watches Jason sleep. He wonders if the lover is worth it all. This pretence with her, this relationship based on lies. Gently, mother-like she brushes a few strands of hair from his face. He murmurs in his sleep, shifting slightly. There is no pressure with Jason. Anna wonders when he is going to tell her this secret of his that she already knows. Chocking back the laughter that threatens to burst past her lips, the woman closes her eyes and tries not to dream of Henry this night.

The new day dawns sunny and beautiful. Anna wakes to the smell of food and a cup of tea on the small table to her side. She takes her time rolling out of bed. Jason won't be in any hurry to speak to her, and right now she doesn't want to talk either. Drinking her tea with slow sips, she contemplates her situation. "Anna Kleve, what have you done this time?" she asks with some exasperation. The answer is: nothing she hasn't already done, of course.

She finds her boyfriend in the kitchen. "Jason," she greets him, pressing a small kiss to his unshaved cheek. "How was the dinner?"

"Same old, same old." He hands her a plate. "I went with the boys after. I hope you didn't wait up too late for me."

"No, I figured you would like to spend some time with them." Other women would be pulling their hair out, Anna just eats her pancakes.

"You really are the best anyone could ever ask for." There is something like regret in his voice. "I almost feel bad for stealing you away." He changes the subject. "How was Natalie's party? I'm sorry I couldn't make it."

"I told her as much, and it was fine." At least those few hours she spent there. She wonders what Natalie would think if she knew her excuse of not feeling well was just that – a reason for her to be off, claiming to be on the way home, but actually climbing in a taxi heading for some other party. "She's starting to show, you know."

"We should buy her a present. For the baby."

"I'll take care of it," she says, noticing the uncomfortable look on his face.


	2. Chapter 2

Thomas Cromwell walks down the morgue's floor to where Henry looms above the table, looking down at the uncovered body. He doesn't say anything, but he greets the man with a sharp nod. Identifying the corpse takes no more than a few seconds. It is Kathryn Tudor, beyond a shadow of doubt. "Have they questioned you?" he finally asks, after a long and charged silence.

Henry is still staring at his deceased wife. He takes a moment to reply. "They asked me where I was last night." He draws the sheet over the blue tinted skin and the bleached blonde hair. Cromwell looks at his expectantly. Henry glares in return. "I was with her until about two o'clock."

To anyone who didn't know Henry it might have sounded strange. Her is not actually Kathryn. "Do you think she'd be willing to talk to me?" Cromwell wonders just how far the girl is willing to go for Henry. "The hour of death is officially recorded as somewhere between 23:30 and 12:45."

They walk away, Henry using his cane for support. The car is already waiting for them. "Is there anything you are not telling me?"

Shaking his head, Cromwell pulls out a dossier. "His name is Henry Manox. He was a music teacher at her high school." He hands the file over, looking out the window as Henry studies the information gathered by the network.

"Where is he now?" he asks, slapping the folder shut.

"In the States. He is married, has two children, a dog, a car and a small house. American dream." Letting out a sigh, Cromwell prepares to deliver the bad news. "The other one we haven't found. He disappeared a few months after she married you."

"Take me to Anna's." His order rings loud and clear. Cromwell knows he won't be talking to the girl anytime soon. He nods to the chauffeuse, but can't help asking, "Why do you continue doing this?" Just how attached is he to the young woman to keep calling on her over and over again, when Anna Kleve has made it clear she doesn't want him in any capacity other than that of an occasional lover. "What is she to you?" Henry gives him a look as if to ask just how stupid his associate is. He climbs out of the car and crosses the road at and alarming pace. Cromwell drives away, making a note to obtain Anna Kleve's number.

She hadn't been expecting company, Henry concludes when Anna opens the door looking as if she has, single-handedly, stopped a rebellion. When she sees him, her arms are thrown around him, head buried in his neck. "I was going to call," she says, and he can feel her tears soak through his shirt. "Oh my God, Henry, I'm so sorry!"

He manages to somehow get them both in without breaking contact. He looks around for the boyfriend, trying not to think about what she's been doing before he got to her door. Anna must have felt him tense. She lifts her head and wipes her tears away with the back of her hand. "He's not here."

She reads him so well. "Good," Henry approves. They go straight for the couch, him sitting first just so he can pull her in his lap. He feels so tired. Her familiar scent wafts through the room.

"Henry, what happened?" she finally braves the silence, arms wrapping back around him. Deft fingers comb through his hair, massaging the scalp.

"She's dead." The usual blue of his eyes had darkened to something like black. Anna sees the way he grips the cane, and goes for the walking stick, taking it for fear that Henry will break it if he gets the chance. "There's nothing more to say."

"She was murdered," Anna points out softly. "Henry, she was brutally murdered. There is always something more to say." Now her fingers are tangled in his hair and she's tugging at it, forcing his eyes to hers. She wonders where he went after she left. "Do you have any idea who might have wanted her dead?"

Trying to ignore his hand toying with the end of her skirt, Anna concentrates on the rhythm of his heart under her palm as he speaks. "Not sure yet. We're looking into it. God knows those officers of the law are more than incompetent." His fingers press into her knee. "I might need you to confirm some things for me."

"Like what?" Her skirt rides up slightly. Anna pushes his hand away, holding it in her own to stop further attempts. "What have you told them, Henry?"

"Only that you were with me and Charles at that party." Which is not untrue. "And that you can confirm I attended from nine to about two."

"Fine." She bends forward at his insistence. It's only a kiss.

He wants to ask if she's always alone as she is now. Instead Henry falls back against the couch, giving her a meaningful look. "Should I congratulate you yet?" The sarcasm is not lost on Anna, and he can see it in the way her eyes grow hard. "Why won't you face the truth?"

Because Jason is not interested in her, he won't demand more of her than he does now. "I'll call Will. See if he can help somehow. But whose modus operandi does it resemble?"

"Nobody I would have called upon if I wanted to get rid of her in this manner. Too sloppy." He recounts the details to Anna. "Don't worry too much. Kathryn likely brought it upon herself one way or another. I've barely even spoken to her these past two years, except–"

"Except what?" Anna's eyes widen. "When she asked for money. Debts?"

"Could be." He had refused to grant her the sum she asked for, and in return she had thrown a tantrum, screeching like a harpy. She locked herself in one of the rooms and refused to leave. Since then she has been doing it every week. "She seemed rather desperate last time."


End file.
